


a sly wind blown in from the north

by orphan_account



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, R plus L equals J, Robb Lives, i was gently pushed into posting this u kno who u are, this is really just shameless self indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 03:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10234841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Your brother's right, Jon Snow. Lay down your arms, no one gets hurt.” LIAR. Robb Stark does not kill indiscriminately. He used to hate to kill, even birds and bugs. Ned once said a good leader should not enjoy killing, but rise to it when it must be done. It's been otherwise proven though. Robb Stark is not a good leader.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for an au verse, robb survives from the red wedding. traumatized beyond belief he rides for the wall and jon, the rumors that he is dead still spread.   
> set during the battle of the bastards.   
> title from the 2000 movie chocolat.

                    The battle is far from over, they would have all _died_ if it was not for Petyr Baelish and the Knights of the Vale. He is grateful to them, grateful to have been given a **CHANCE.** He knows what comes next, knows that Ramsay Bolton **_(_ **  like the pathetic bastard he is **_)_ ** will retreat back behind castle walls. So what does he do? _He gets there first._ Hides just beyond the castle gates and slips in just before they shut them. They hardly notice. With his head down he looks like another soldier returning with his tail between his legs.

 

                    He is waiting. Waiting for a moment best poised for an attack but there isn’t one.  Instead there is interruption. **_“THAT’S ROBB STARK!”_ ** And he knows then he's done for. Not that he minds. So many reasons to die. Only two to live.

 

                    He does not struggle against the man who holds him, who pins his arms down in a fashion that would be easy to break if he so wished. He does not flinch when the man who raped his sister, who murdered his baby brother, who tortured a man he once considered his best friend until he refused his own name, touches him. And the man _laughs._ In his face, he laughs. Amused like a slow child who's caught a bug from midair. He does not tell him that he will not be laughing when his body rots and his household name dies because he was too in love with power. Because he knows no honor.

 

                    “The Young Pup _!_ ” The tone of amusement is not lost on him. “Happy you could join us. Just what was your plan here? Did you have any, or have you come to die as you should have when your whore wife was killed?” You will get no answer from him, Bolton. Nothing besides a faceful of grit and blood mixed spit.

 

                    “That's right, I've forgotten,” a hand sweeps across his own face, collecting muck to flick to the ground at Robb's feet. “They say you don't speak anymore. I'm _sure_ I could change that. For now though, your lover is on his way.” A pause, a part of the lips. “I’m sorry did I say lover? I meant **_brother_ ** , but I suppose they're all the same to you.” He’s laughing, the part that angers him is that it’s at not him but at _Jon._ That has him kicking, managing to press heel down into the bastard's shoe hard enough to earn a crunching sound. Ramsay doesn't react. Not beyond a wave of the hand to take him away.

 

                    He hears them talking, does not scream for Jon or even Sansa as they arrive. Ramsay says something about one on one battle and as sure as he is that Jon would win, he's grateful to hear Ramsay stop it. “ _WAIT!_ Wait, wait. I've had a lapse in manners. I'm afraid I haven’t introduced you to my other guest.” _Guest._ There's a churn in all three Stark's stomachs at the word. “Bring him out then.”

 

                    And here he comes, forced to walk and tripping over his own feet. He can hear the fear in Sansa’s voice as she says his name, despite the cold tone of hatred against Ramsay. Can see Jon's resolve crack and shatter away. “Don't be afraid.” It's a seldom used voice that comes next. As he's shoved in the Bolton's direction, knife immediately perched at his throat.

 

                                         “—Lord Bolton, there's no reason to do this.”

 

                    Of course, put a bastard and a woman in a room and the bastard is the one to break first. “Jon, _don't._ Listen to me, it'll be all fine. You, Sansa and I will be fine.” His words sound like acceptance to his death. Like he's ready to leave them.

 

                                         “Your brother's right, Jon Snow. Lay down your arms, no one gets hurt.” **_LIAR_** _._ Robb Stark does not kill indiscriminately. He used to hate to kill, even birds and bugs. Ned once said _a good leader should not enjoy killing, but rise to it when it must be done._ It's been otherwise proven though. Robb Stark is not a good leader.

 

                    He does not register the cut he receives in turning around, he will survive. The blade hidden in sleeve goes with a sickening noise, and an alarmed gasp from his sister. “For my _brother_.” He knows where the heart is, it was not an accident to miss it. His hand is at the base of Ramsay Bolton's back, holding him up as the knife plunges for every blame he lays.

 

“For my _sister._ ”

Another sick squelching noise.

“For my **mother.** ”

Another.

“For my best friend.”

The noise will haunt him the most.

“For my _WIFE_ and **UNBORN CHILD.** ”

It will haunt them all.

“For the men who trusted your father.”

Just once more.

“And for taking away the pleasure of killing him from me.”

 

                   The knife and the body of Ramsay Bolton hit the ground together. A large thud and a soft clank. He makes it a few feet backing up before he too falls. Hits cobblestone with a painful thump, staring at what he's done. Jon and Sansa by his side immediately. His brother kneeling, his sister standing. He barely registers the way Jon's callused hands rub gentle circles into his back. It's Sansa whom speaks next;

 

                                      “You did what had to be done. You did the right thing.”

  
                                                                             “Then why do I still feel empty? Why… do I still want to die?”


End file.
